The silence that followed the slaughter was a heavy, tangible thing, broken only by the faint, high-pitched hum of the Spartan's Mjolnir armor and the distant chirping of some alien bird. Gror, the dwarf merchant, remained on the ground, his back pressed hard against the rough bark of the tree. His mind, which moments before had been consumed by the primal terror of impending death, was now struggling to process the impossible violence he had just witnessed. He stared at the carnage, at the fifteen broken bodies of the goblins that had been a living, shrieking nightmare, now reduced to silent, mangled heaps of flesh and bone.
Then he looked at the metal giant.
It—no, he—stood with an unnatural stillness, the MA40 assault rifle held at a low ready. The being's posture was not that of a triumphant warrior, but of a machine assessing the results of a completed task. Gror had seen great adventurers fight. He had seen the swift grace of elven rangers and the unyielding fury of fellow dwarven berserkers. What he had just seen was none of that. It was something colder, more absolute. It was the logic of a predator, the finality of an executioner.
"Analysis complete," Cortana's voice echoed in Valerius's neural interface, her tone professionally detached but with an undercurrent of awe. "Fifteen hostiles neutralized in 14.7 seconds from initial engagement. No rounds wasted. Textbook, Chief."
"They were disorganized," Valerius replied internally, his gaze sweeping the clearing, his HUD highlighting the trajectories of his shots and the impact points of his physical strikes. "Inferior to Grunts in terms of discipline, but their aggression is comparable. The archers were a tactical variable, but lacked the shielding or accuracy of a Jackal marksman."
"So, bottom of the food chain, then?"
"For now."
He approached the dwarf, each step a heavy, deliberate thud that made the ground seem to vibrate. Gror flinched, trying to make himself smaller, pressing his stout body further into the tree. The Spartan stopped a few meters away, the sheer scale of him blocking out the sun. The blue visor, a glowing, impassive eye, seemed to stare directly into Gror's soul. The silence stretched, thick with tension. Gror's heart hammered against his ribs like a forge hammer on an anvil. He expected a demand, a threat, a price for his life.
Instead, the metal giant simply stated, in that calm, cold, electronically filtered baritone: "Spartan-001."
The name meant nothing to Gror, yet it was delivered with such finality that it felt like a law of nature.
Valerius turned his attention to the carnage. "Cortana, activate the scanner. Let's see what we're working with."
[ ACTIVATING [Basic Material Scanner] ]
[ Scanning Target: Goblin Corpse... ]
[ Scan Complete. ]
Data streamed into his HUD. A 3D wireframe of a goblin appeared, with biological information scrolling beside it.
[ SUBJECT: GOBLIN ]
[ BIOLOGY: Carbon-based humanoid. Low bone density, highly susceptible to kinetic trauma. Musculature is wiry but lacks significant strength. Nervous system is primitive. No energy shielding detected. ]
[ UNIQUE PROPERTY: A small, crystalline organ—the "Magic Stone"—is located near the heart. It appears to be a residual energy conduit. Function unknown, potential power source. ]
[ COMPARATIVE ANALYSIS: Threat level analogous to Covenant Unggoy (Grunt), but with inferior tactical discipline and no technological aptitude. ]
"Magic Stones," Cortana mused, her avatar tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin. "Interesting. A biological energy source. Sounds a lot cleaner than our old fusion packs. We need more data on these."
Valerius acknowledged with a mental nod. He walked over to his cart and, with one hand, effortlessly lifted the overturned vehicle, setting it back on its wheels with a heavy thud that made Gror jump. The axle was bent, one wheel askew.
"Your transport is compromised," Spartan-001 stated, turning his visor back to the dwarf. "Destination?"
Gror finally found his voice, though it came out as a strangled squeak. "O-Orario."
"Proximity?"
"A… a day's walk. Maybe two, with… with this." He gestured a trembling hand at the broken wheel.
Valerius assessed the damage. The axle was thick iron. Repair was impossible without a forge. "We move on foot. Gather your valuables."
Gror stared, bewildered. He had expected to be robbed, or left for dead. This… this was something else. Scrambling to his feet, he began to hastily gather his scattered goods, his eyes constantly darting back to the silent, armored figure who stood guard. The Spartan didn't help, but he didn't rush him either. He simply stood, a sentinel of steel, his rifle held loosely, his head constantly scanning the treeline. Gror had never felt so terrified, and yet, so utterly safe. He packed what he could carry into a large sack—some food, a waterskin, and a small, heavy pouch of Valis he had hidden in a false bottom.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows through the forest, they set off. Gror, with his short dwarven legs, struggled to keep up with the Spartan's long, ground-eating strides.
"Slow your pace, Chief," Cortana advised gently. "Our new friend is a little short for a stormtrooper. And he's our only source of intel for now. We need him functional."
Valerius adjusted his speed without a word, falling into a steady, rhythmic pace that Gror could just about match. For hours, they walked in silence, the only sounds the crunch of their boots and the rustling of unseen things in the woods. Gror's initial terror began to slowly subside, replaced by a burning, all-consuming curiosity.
"That… that weapon," Gror finally managed to say, his voice still raspy. "The one that made the thunder. What was it?"
"MK50 Sidekick," the Spartan replied without looking at him.
"And… and you? Your armor? Are you from some forgotten kingdom? A golem created by a god?"
"He's not much for small talk," Cortana interjected into Valerius's private comms. "Let me handle this. Ask him about the city. Specifics."
"Orario," Valerius said, his voice cutting through Gror's rambling. "What is its governing body?"
Gror blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "Governing body? Well, that would be the Guild. They manage the Dungeon, register adventurers, handle the monster loot… they keep the city from falling into chaos."
"Adventurers?"
"Aye! Like me, though I'm just a supporter, mostly. People who have received a god's blessing—a Falna—and form Familias to explore the Dungeon."
[ NEW KEYWORDS DETECTED ]
[ KEYWORDS: [Guild], [Dungeon], [Adventurer], [Gods], [Falna], [Familia]. ]
[ OBJECTIVE 2 UPDATED: Acquire detailed intelligence on these keywords. ]
"So, these gods… they are real entities?" Cortana asked through Valerius. The question was posed with his voice, but the curiosity was hers. "They grant tangible power?"
Gror looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Of course they're real! They descended from the heavens a thousand years ago, seeking entertainment. They seal most of their divine power, their Arcanum, to live among us mortals. The Falna is the miracle they grant, the key to unlocking our potential, to leveling up!"
"Leveling up," Cortana repeated in the private comm. "Fascinating. It's like a biological experience point system. The gods are acting as game masters for an entire civilization."
"A system designed to foster dependence," Valerius countered, his tone grim. "They provide the means for growth, and in return, they receive loyalty, entertainment, and control. It's a gilded cage."
"You're no fun," she teased, but she knew he was right.
They continued their journey through the night. The Spartan's armor had integrated night vision, bathing the world in a pale green light. He moved with the same unnerving confidence as he did in daylight. Gror, meanwhile, stumbled along, relying on the faint light of the two moons that now hung in the sky. Whenever a strange sound echoed from the darkness, a twig snapped, or a pair of eyes glinted from the bushes, the Spartan would stop. His head would turn, his rifle would rise slightly, and whatever was out there would invariably fall silent or retreat.
Gror learned more in that one night than in twenty years of traveling. The Spartan asked questions with the precision of a surgeon. He didn't ask "what are monsters," he asked "classify all known hostile entities by threat level, habitat, and resource drops." He didn't ask "who is strong," he asked "list all Familias in Orario, their operational strength, key personnel with their documented levels, and their political affiliations."
Gror, a merchant who made his living by knowing who was who and what was what, answered as best he could. He spoke of the mighty Loki Familia, led by the Level 6 Sword Princess, Aiz Wallenstein, and their brilliant strategist, the Level 6 Finn Deimne. He spoke of the terrifying Freya Familia, whose captain, the Level 7 Ottar, was rumored to be the strongest adventurer in the city. He described the structure of the Guild, the different floors of the Dungeon, and the economics of Magic Stones.
Cortana absorbed it all, cross-referencing, building files, creating a detailed schematic of Orario's power structure in their private system.
"Aiz Wallenstein, Level 6," Cortana mused. "Based on the dwarf's descriptions of Level 5s being able to take on small armies, a Level 6 must be equivalent to… what? A Hunter pair? A Scarab? The power scaling is steep."
"Unknown variables," Valerius stated. "Her strength is tied to this 'Falna'. It's not a purely physical rating. We lack the data for a proper comparison. But any single combatant capable of turning the tide of a battle is a strategic asset that must be monitored."
As the first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, they saw it. Rising from the plains ahead was the city of Orario, and at its heart, the impossible Tower of Babel, a monument of stone and ambition that defied gravity itself.
They stopped at the edge of the forest, looking down at the sprawling metropolis.
"Well, there it is," Cortana said. "The lion's den."
"It's a fortress," Valerius corrected her, his HUD already mapping out the city walls, potential entry points, and fields of fire. "And every fortress has a weakness."
Gror, exhausted but alive, looked up at his savior. The morning light glinted off the grey and blue armor, making the giant of a man seem even more imposing, more alien. He still didn't know what this 'Spartan-001' was, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: Orario was about to change. The arrival of this being was not the start of a simple adventure. It was the first tremor of an earthquake.